


Delicate

by reddottedpaper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, F/M, Mutual Pining, Relationship Study, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 21:37:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14341401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddottedpaper/pseuds/reddottedpaper
Summary: "Oh, Mr. Holmes. If it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"Only this time, they aren't interrupted and Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes have a moment for themselves.





	Delicate

She was sitting in John's chair across from him and her eyes were closely watching his fingers tug rhytmically on the strings of his violin. Sherlock's mind was elsewhere, far away, purposefully lost in the maze of his great mind. When he spoke out to John, The Woman answered and Sherlock suddenly landed back in his chair, in his flat, with Irene Adler sitting in front of him by the fire.

"Where's John?"

"He left. A few hours ago." 

"I was just talking to him."

"He said you do that," she watched him with fascination, the cute confusion that washed over his face made her smile.

Sherlock's head dropped down to his chest and he put away the instrument. He sank into his chair with a deep sigh and decided to focus on the fire. His thoughts in his head were scribbled instead of written in a neat cursive and he knew that the woman sitting across from him was the reason for that. 

Irene Adler. She was beautiful, of course, but that wasn't what made his genius mind so confused. She was something much more. She was smart, cunning, vicious and she liked to be in control. A power hungry dominatrix who played him like a little boy. The worst thing about this was that Sherlock found himself starting to like it as much as he was annoyed by it. He liked this game they played with each other and he liked that he had no clue whether he was winning or not. With her face in front of his eyes, his brain felt engaged to its full potential. He felt as if he could murders predict, not only solve, he felt as if he could never be bored again. She kept him on an edge that made him feel so excited and tired at the same time and he found guilty pleasure in playing with her. Her pure presence, a thought of her, made him feel at odds with himself. Made him feel alive and challenged but at the same time so lost, in himself, in her. She sometimes caused an absurd short-circuit in him that made him mumble words or just zoom out of the situation, just focused on her voice, her eyes, the warmth that ran through his veins all of sudden.

That's actually exactly how he found himself staring at her lips while she whispered those words, staring at his lips as well.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes. If it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"

Her voice echoed in his mind but he didn't understand the words she said. His focus was fully occupied by her heartbeat pulsing against his fingers and spreading through his body. Sherlock looked up into her eyes as Irene leaned even closer. He remembered that she talked about dinner. He wasn't hungry. Neither was she.

"Miss Adler," he spoke slowly, noticing the fire glistening in her eyes.

"Mr. Holmes," she echoed and a wide grin spread across her face. 

She knew she couldn't rush this but it took her a lot of effort to hold herself back and it made her impatient. She felt radiant this close to him. And Sherlock wasn't moving away, looking into her eyes, counting her eyelashes. His right hand reached up to her face and Irene gently settled her warm cheek against his palm. He stroked his thumb across her skin with a hitched breath. The Woman's fingers softly slid up his arm and interlocked themselves with his own. Irene breathed out and in that moment Sherlock turned his head to a side, away from her. Confused and rejected, Irene stilled in her actions but didn't move away.

"What's wrong?" she asked calmly, seeing in his features worry.

Sherlock swallowed and got back his composure, his hand gently let go of her face and landed back on the arm of his chair.

"I'm afraid I'll be skipping dinner tonight, Miss Adler," he met her eyes.

The struggle in his voice told The Woman that he was very close to accepting her invitation just a few seconds ago but his damned sexy brain decided against it. She bit her lip and did little to hide the dissappointment in her face as she moved away and stood up to sit back in the chair of doctor Watson. Sherlock's fingers grazed hers when she turned around and she froze.

"But," he spoke silently as he held her hand, his deep voice echoing through the warm room.

She made sure to turn back around slowly, afraid he would let go if she did it too fast. She watched him with surprise as he leaned in and took her hand in his, he smoothly ran his fingers down her palm and fingers, over her wrists. Irene Adler felt flushed, her lips parted with hot little breaths as she watched Sherlock softly tend to her hands.

"Do be careful, Miss Adler," he didn't look up at her yet.

Instead, he stood up and was suddenly right there, in front of her. Holding her hands in between their chests, so close that Irene could see the seams on his suit, so close that she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheeks. Sherlock's eyes locked in with hers and neither one of them could suddenly move away. He slowly lowered her arms to her sides and crept his fingers up to her elbows and back down, rolling up the sleeves of his dressing gown that she was wearing. The Woman held her breath as she stared into his bright eyes, watching him lean in closer to her ear. His hands stopped at her wrists and he gently took hold of them, feeling that her heart raced just as fast as his. 

"You're showing your cards way too soon," he whispered.

Sherlock felt Irene still as her eyes blinked open wider. Before she could move away, his lips touched the soft skin of her cheek. The Woman's tension left her body just as fast as it appeared and as embarrassed as she was to admit it to herself, she was blushing. Her cheek was burning red as Sherlock leaned away, looking down at her calmly. 

They shared a few seconds of just each other's presence, trying to read the other one. Sherlock methodically closed the one button on his suit jacket and she watched him do so. Did he just see through her? And _what_ did he see? Did he see the desire she had for him? Why did he stop then? Did he see something else? Something more? The plan she had set in motion?

Whatever it was, he decided to bring her attention to it, rather than using it against her. Irene's lips slid into a smirk, watching the consulting detective, the genius who defined the new sexy. Had she fallen for him or had he fallen for her? She bit her lip and crossed her arms.

"Look at you, the detective with the funny hat," she eyed him from his toes up, "What did my cards show, then?"

Flirtuous, joking, she was in control as long as she looked and acted the part. She was telling herself that she was asking to find out what exactly he could know about the plan with Jim Moriarty, but really, she was just curious. She was eager and dying to know how Sherlock made her blush, made her whole body feel wanted and needed with only a kiss on the cheek. How did he read something from her while she was lost in a feeling of pure physical contact. That was _her_ job. In a different world, she'd gladly accept Sherlock Holmes as her pupil. A small smile tugged on her lips at that thought while she waited for his answer. 

He gave her a look over his shoulder as he slowly walked over to his window and lifted the curtain. He took a few seconds before he met her gaze, their eyes locked in once again.

"You." 

She kept the smile on her face as a facade. A facade so perfect she believed it herself sometimes. A perfect mask that made people fall to their knees at her feet and beg for mercy how many times she wanted. A perfect mask that hid her so well that nobody could ever find her. Nobody even knew she was hiding behind that facade, hiding away inside a dark place she didn't recognize herself. A perfect hide out for the worries, stress, sadness and need to be loved, to feel sympathy, all of it kept safely away behind beauty and pleasure and power. But today, there was a crack of light as a door opened in that dark place, in her hide out. And her eyes widened and her pupils shrinked under the strong glow. She recognized a shadow in the middle of that glow, a shadow of a tall detective in a big warm coat with a funny hat. She was scared that the light would shine upon everything she kept away, that it would crack the place open and expose her to the world. But the detective looked into her frightened eyes and something made him close the door. She didn't know why but he closed it, keeping her in the darkness, keeping her safe. 

Sherlock watched the street bellow and saw a black sedan stop at the door of the flat. He let go of the curtain and turned towards the door.

"My apologies, Miss Adler, duty calls."

Irene watched the car leave through the window at 221B Baker street and she knew that she needed to leave as well. That she needed to go and break Sherlock Holmes into a million pieces that nobody would ever put back together again. Not even the Iceman. And as she left the flat all she could think of was how much she wished the game was a bit longer. All she wished for was for the game to go on. Because for the first time, someone saw through her. Sherlock Holmes peeked under her mask of a dominatrix just as she peeked under his mask of an emotionless genius detective. And they both knew that the other one is not what they seem to be. Irene Adler respected Sherlock Holmes, even dared to hope that the respect was mutual. The possibility that she felt for him something more made her feel weak but amused. She did like those cheekbones, his wits. What a pity she would have to destroy him when she won.

* * *

Later that night, her skin prickled with recognition as he took her hands and leaned in on her ear again. Only this time, he opened the door wide. This time, she lost and was the one left destroyed.


End file.
